When the Clock Strikes Midnight
by hoarfrosted
Summary: Jett didn't need anyone to tell him that he was extraordinary, above the rest of the Normals, for he already knew it to be true. However, Logan reaffirming the certainty didn't hurt. Warnings for tame necrophilia and language. Set in BTR Halloweenverse.


**Disclaimer: I don't claim jack-diddly. There is the smallest allusion to the first chapter of gleechild's _Big Time Twisted Tales_, since her story totally added to my Jett headcanon. I don't claim that either.**

**1: Spoilers for episode 2x5 (I think?) _Big Time Halloween_. Warnings fo****r necrophilia (no, not zombie sex, just the idea of someone liking certain characteristics of a deceased being, in which I plan not to gloss over a single detail of Logan being a zombie, so if you're bothered by things like rotting flesh, blood or maggots or someone _liking_ rotting flesh, blood or maggots, leave immediately, kay?) ****and language.**

**2: ****Written**** from Jett's perspective, of course, so any Kendall bashing is purely from his opinion. Centers on Logan and Jett, with minor appearances from other characters. Set in the BTR Halloween Universe, Palmsylvania or whatever the hell it's called. IDK, mang.**

**Prompted by and dedicated to the lovely Fetish. Yes, that's her handle.**

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><p><em><strong>When the Clock Strikes<strong>** Midnight**_

* * *

><p>With more force than necessary, Jett heaved himself back into a cheap plastic chair at a tackily decorated round table, propping one leg on top of his knee with an irate frown.<p>

Ever since he'd arrive at the generic Halloween party that he and Jo had been forced to attend by their New Town High public relations manager, he'd been spending his time schmoozing with high-power executive types in stuffy suits who he was positive had _no_ affiliation with any part of his career whatsoever, as well as grinning like an imbecile for every faceless fan who crossed his path and wanted a picture with him.

Needless to say, he wasn't very pleased.

Sure, he got to see fans that adored him every now and again, and it was _always_ a treat to have people adore him, but they were too few and far in between to keep him occupied. To make matters worse, there were tons of screaming teenage girls in the area, craving Big…something or other; he really couldn't be bothered to remember the name. It was nauseating and made his head pound with aggravation.

Thoughts of aggravation made his focus shift to Jo, who was speaking – giggling – with _Kendall_ near band members setting up various instruments. No, he wasn't annoyed with her in the least – he questioned her taste in boys, of course – but he was envious of her having a reason to be at the event besides limited media coverage. And really, she was _suppose _to be playing up the crowd with _him _to sell the on-screen chemistry between Drake and Rachel, not flouncing off for her lukewarm boyfriend.

Jett huffed and crossed his arms self-pityingly, knowing he was only displeased with his situation. Alone. At a bright orange table with a hideous, mobile cake.

Just as he was sure that he was at the pinnacle of his perturbance, someone bumped into his left flank, sending the chair rocking and him flailing to keep his balance, narrowly avoiding landing in an embarrassing heap on leaf-littered concrete. He was prepared to turn on his most belittling scowl, heavily worded depth perception insults at the ready, until he recognized his instrument-toting assailant and knew his wit would be wasted.

"Woah, sorry 'bout that, Normal dude," Guitar Dude nodded apologetically before playing a somber note on his guitar and waddling off.

Forgetting his earlier lenience, Jett scowled heatedly at the man, willing his instrument to burst into flames. Being reminded of other deep-seated personal issues only pissed him off more.

_Normal_ dude.

It simply wasn't fair that not having any extreme abnormalities, like bat wings for ears or magic powers or a condo in a murky lagoon, classed him with "Normals". The idea was laughable; he was Jett Stetson! _Jett Stetson_ was in no way _normal,_ he was extraordinary, exemplary, special, and other synonyms used to describe people who were above the line of mediocrity. How could anyone look at his gorgeous face and call him _normal_? His beauty was so profound, it was positively supernatural.

Life was criminal.

Too caught up in his own wallowing, Jett didn't get the chance to sneer at an approaching boy and scare him away before he sat at the round table to his right. Contradictory to his earlier griping, he didn't want any foreign company, preferring to stew in solitude. Too agitated to concern himself with pretense, Jett settled for glaring at the stranger until he took the hint and vanished.

Of course, glaring at the character meant he had to actually _look_ at him, which meant he had to notice the product-treated tufts of dark locks up top, the warm, chocolate-colored eyes that were sparkling with astonishment, the perfectly plump lips, and the admittedly stylish clothing covering his frame. Jett snorted; _this_ was someone who deserved the title of normal. Nice to look at, sure, but still normal. Except for his skin, which was pale. Like, _frightfully_ pale – ghostly even. Perhaps he was a human-ghost hybrid.

That only brought more confusion to Jett's inner ramblings. How could a human and a ghost even touch each other to make such a child? Could ghosts even touch _themselves_ or would their limbs simply phase through each other upon contact? As if he'd heard Jett's thoughts, the possible-ghost-boy held out his left arm and yanked on it sharply with his right hand, wincing at the action and grinning brightly. That had been pretty strange, but it answered one of Jett's questions. Ghosts could touch themselves.

But it still left the question of whether ghosts could touch humans. Sure, he'd met other ghosts before, but never any that he was curious enough to try and touch because, ick, ectoplasm. This one wasn't leaking any sort of fluorescent green goo like the hotel manager, so maybe it was safe enough to–

Those brown eyes were gazing at him curiously now, and Jett realized he'd forgotten to wear his agitation and scare the ghost-boy away, and he probably just looked like a creep. Glare back in place, Jett snipped out an annoyed, "What?" to the boy.

He received an undaunted blink. "You were staring at me, and it looks like you're trying to poke me."

Jett glanced down and, sure enough, his right arm was outstretched, most likely to test his theories. Scowling, Jett returned the treacherous limb to its crossed position in front of his chest, "I was not."

"Yes, you were."

Sniffing haughtily, Jett turned away from foreign apparition. "I don't think so. Why would _I _want to touch someone as wholly uninteresting as yourself?" Maybe that was a bit harsh, but he needed a receptacle for his irritation.

The stranger grinned in both literal and figurative crooked joy. "Yeah, I'm pretty ordinary, huh?" he boasted, which, again, was pretty strange.

"Yes, you're simply the epitome of normalcy right now," Jett replied with as much disinterest as he could muster, bored with the discussion.

Ghost-boy beamed brightly before more confusion flickered across his face. "Are you alright?" Jett didn't answer verbally, only gave him a questioning lift of his eyebrow. "Well, you don't seem too happy to be here, you know, like everyone else," he stated as if it was obvious.

"Oh, no, I'm absolutely _overjoyed_ to attend a Halloween party geared toward annoying teenage girls celebrating a lackluster tween boy band that makes my ears bleed," Jett deadpanned, words dripping with acidic sarcasm.

Ghost-boy frowned, apparently put off by the attitude. Jett only hoped he wasn't dealing with an obsessed, overzealous fan that would try to scalp him for disparaging on their favorite boy band. He knew he'd be marginally less pretty without hair. "I'm guessing you're not a huge Big Time Rush fan?"

"Who?"

"Big Time Rush...you know, the vocal group performing tonight?"

So _that_ was their name. What awful grammar they had! "Unless I've suddenly become tonally inept, I don't think I'll be a fan of theirs any time soon," he huffed snobbishly. Sure, he'd never actually _heard_ a single song by the band, and he was only reacting the way he was because of unrelated annoyance, but Kendall was a part of the group, so it _had_ to be inherently terrible. Right?

The answer didn't deter ghost-boy any, who only had more questions to ask. Was it customary for someone to bug a complete stranger so much? "But…if you're not a fan, why are you here? This event kind of revolves around them."

"Isn't that the million dollar question?" Jett muttered sourly to himself before answering. "Listen here, ghost-boy, these fat-cat executives here are, apparently, important to my career, and my career comes before my pleasure," he explained, then cringed. Even _he_ knew how terrible that made stardom sound.

Another pointed blink. "'Ghost-boy'?"

Jett frowned in mild shock. He _definitely_ hadn't meant to say that aloud and make himself look like a fool, but backtracking wouldn't look any better. He settled for glaring without explanation instead, much easier.

Ghost-boy wasn't very put off by it. He only chuckled and smiled, "My name's _Logan_ – if you care, that is."

He didn't, not really, so he shrugged and said, "Not as interesting as my name, Jett, but it suits you. I suppose."

"Oh, I know who you are."

Now _that_ was something interesting. Already, Jett was more invested in the conversation, simply because he had become its main topic and, well, Jett Stetson was the topic of _any_ good conversation. He turned towards ghost-boy – Logan – and propped his chin on top of his fist with a charming smirk. "Oh you _do_, do you?"

Logan nodded. "Yeah, I've watched New Town High a few times. To be honest, I find some of the production values on the show to be uncommonly–"

"Yes, riveting," Jett interrupted immediately, feeling the conversation steer in an area _not_ centered on him. "Tell me more about what you think of me," his smirk widened. "Is my performance dazzling or simply astounding on screen?"

Logan took on a contemplative air, humming lowly in thought. "Well, you certainly have the charisma and the confidence needed to pull off portraying the lead protagonist, and you're excellent at generating genuine chemistry for Rachel during your romantic scenes…"

It wasn't exactly groveling, but yes, Jett's ego was happily being fed. He felt like maybe he could grow to like this Logan fellow–

"…but, I find your line delivery often comical at inappropriate times. It's difficult to feel sad during a dramatic scene or afraid during a horror scene when all I want to do is laugh at the dialogue. Throws off the appropriate emotions meant to be conveyed."

Or not.

Jett scowled at the _impolite_ incorporeal individual sitting to his right before turning his nose up to the full moon in the sky, pride wounded and scarred. How could anyone be so callous, _cruel_ as to say such a terrible thing to him? He worked diligently on his performance, sitting in his air-conditioned trailer and emoting to his reflection in his full-length mirror for minutes on end. "You're obviously mistaken. What do _you_ know anyway?"

He couldn't see what Logan was doing at the moment, but he could hear the shrug in his voice. "Admittedly, I know a lot," he answered, and there was the slightest, almost nonexistent hint of arrogance there as well – Jett only picked up on it since he knew the feeling so familiarly.

"Oh, really?" Jett leveled his ghostly enemy with a challenging eye, which Logan's brow rose to meet. "If you know so much, then why do they mix orange peels into steak sauce?" Where the question spawned from, he didn't know, but it was so random that it _had_ to trip Logan up.

"To add to the tangy flavor and to offset the sweetness of the orange juice and the raisins," Logan answered without hesitance, smiling and, yes, that small _small_ bit of arrogance was present once more.

Jett grimaced at the ingredients, thankful that he didn't eat red meat in any case. "Can you tell me why you're so aggravating?" he asked, not really expecting any response.

Logan decided to give one anyway. "Well, I tend to be a know-it-all, I often create things that spontaneously explode, my voice gets _really_ high-pitched when I'm freaked out, and my limbs…" he paused and looked down at one of his arms with a smile. "…never mind. That's all."

Too stumped by the fact that Logan _actually listed out reasons_ to his question, Jett didn't have the wherewithal to wonder about the omitted portion of the explanation. He didn't have the time to anyway, as Kendall was suddenly approaching their table – approaching Logan.

"Dude, what are you doing? The band's almost finish setting up, we have to start the show in…" Kendall drifted off as his green eyes wandered over to the other occupant of the table, finding another pair of matching irises. All traces of friendliness left his expression. "_Jett_," he greeted venomously.

"_Kendall_," Jett returned with equal disdain, smirking derisively. "Sorry to see your face is as awkward in the moonlight as it is in the sunlight. Pity, that."

Kendall's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Sorry to see you're alone and bitter, like always." Jett's face fell at that startling bit of accuracy, glowering silently at his nemesis. Kendall's answering grin told that he knew more than he let on. The cad.

Logan, who'd stayed quiet during the exchange, glanced between them curiously. "Well, that was strange. How much time do we have left, Kendall?"

"Uh, I don't know, like four minutes? Less?" Kendall responded after he tore his gaze away from his enemy. Jett could see why it was difficult look away from such majesty. What he _couldn't_ see was how Logan and Kendall apparently knew one another.

"Oh, alright." Logan didn't appear to want to move from the spot, but resigned himself to his fate. He almost made to stand, then stopped with an exuberant expression. "Hey, Kendall, pull me up," he grinned and held up both of his arms for his friend.

Jett regarded him peculiarly, Kendall humorously. "Really, dude? Again? How many times are you gonna want me to do this?"

"Just a few more times, _come on_," Logan whined and bounced and wiggled his arms childishly until Kendall consented with an indulgent sigh, grabbing Logan's elbows and yanking him up to his feet. Again, Logan winced, but the grin never left his face, and what was with that bit of oddness? Did the guy have some sort of obsession with potential dismemberment?

He didn't get the chance to ask. Seconds later, Logan was waving farewell with a chipper, "Bye, Jett. Hope I see you later," and melding into a sea of people with Kendall tow. With the distractions gone, he returned to indistinct brooding bitterness.

Only now, he had a new source of irritation to focus on, one whose tangibility was still pending.

Anyone who would say such terrible, _untrue_ things about his performing was obviously not a friend…even if it did mean the person paid enough attention to him to notice such a core flaw in his ability. Did that make him a terrible fan or an excellent one? And for that matter, if Logan was as intuitive as he came off as, did that make the things he said _true_? Because if they were, wouldn't that mean that he wasn't as perfect as he thought? What if he _wasn't_ extraordinary?

Life was criminal _and_ confusing.

A welcome distraction from his thoughts came in the form of the band beginning to play their instruments. It was a terrible sound, like something he'd hear on a Top 40s radio station. Really, he needed to find Jo and get away from the impending aural agony, hoping they could call in and get an all clear on the PR front.

Jett stood and dusted off his jacket before pushing his way through the crowd to where he'd last seen his co-star, narrowly avoiding being swiped at by the questionable cake from earlier. Suddenly, terribly, he could hear Kendall's grating voice in his ears and he winced reflexively, shoving a mummified couple out of his way until he broke into a clearing in the crowd where he could clearly see the four boys performing. Of course, he didn't actually care to see them, but Jo was most likely close to the horrific action, and–

Oh, there was Logan, singing and prancing between Kendall and a short kid. That was pretty odd; odd enough to make Jett stop in his tracks and gape like a gorgeous guppy.

Well, it was odd until he actually thought of some of the strange snips from their conversation, like Logan's sudden mood shift when he discovered Jett wasn't a fan of his band-group-thing, and how Kendall had said they needed to start the show.

_And _it explained why Logan had said those _rude _things about his acting. Of course, it all made sense now! Jett had inadvertently insulted him and his group of vocally impaired stooges, so he took his revenge by covertly insulting his performing right back. Jett smirked at the clever devil, glad to know that he was still as amazing as he felt.

Curiosity piqued, Jett ignored the other three hacks and focused on Logan's performance. His dancing was…not very impressive. Seriously, he had the moves down correctly, but he was as stiff as concrete, which put into question placing him right next to the short kid, arguably the best dancer of their little quartet. His singing, however, proved to be his main asset, which was admittedly very nice, even when the lyrics were about a carousel or something. Well, the singing _or_ his looks could have been his main asset.

Logan still hadn't broken out of the average yet. Maybe he'd get there with time. Maybe.

A tap on his shoulder made him tear his eyes away from the view to see Jo, standing there in all her perky splendor and smiling mischievously at him. "You look like you're pretty into the song. Enjoying yourself?" she asked with a teasing lilt.

Jett scoffed and turned back to the group of boys with a critical eye, waiting to see if the microphone phased through Logan's fist. "Sure, I absolutely adore watching off-Broadway performances of _How to Succeed in Hollywood without Much Talent." _He nudged her lightly with his elbow, "That's a theater gag, in case you didn't catch it."

Jo shrugged, "Yeah, I don't get it. Anyway, _she_ called and said we're green-lighted to leave whenever we want, which for you, I'm guessing is ASAP." Jett didn't need clarification on who _she_ was; the distaste in Jo's tone told that it was their public relations manager

"Oh lord, _please_ tell me she sent the limousine," Jett sent Jo a pleading look.

She smiled apologetically. "The pumpkin carriage is…just as good, right?"

Jett rolled his eyes at that, cursing their dullard of a manager for getting into the festive spirit. "Fine, whatever." He took a final glance at Logan and, yes, the microphone was still firmly grasped in his hand. Still ordinary. "I'm leaving," he announced before pivoting on his heel and shoving through the hyper crowd toward a bright orange pumpkin carriage.

He didn't have any reason to stay, after all.

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><p>So, Jett knew he didn't have a reason to stay at the little party last night, but he <em>did<em> have a reason to go see Logan the Not-Ghost the next day.

He just couldn't pinpoint what it was.

No, he hadn't done anything cliché and stereotypical the prior night, like pine over seeing Logan and hearing his opinion or anything. That just didn't happen in reality. He wasn't even positive that he _liked_ the guy at all, him or his snarky intellect. What he _did_ like was having a fan that wasn't afraid to tell him when he wasn't completely flawless, almost like a mini-critic. At least, he was pretty sure he liked it.

The thought of Logan screaming and giggling like his usual fans wasn't very appealing. Yes, he liked having a mature fan. But he didn't like Logan, not yet. He wasn't special enough to gain such respect until he proved himself worthy.

_That_ was why Jett was currently sitting in the hotel lobby, keeping a sharp eye out for either Logan or the band mates that could lead him to Logan, or so told himself. Sure, his ignorant comments about them rang out in his head a few times, but it's not like he was here to _apologize_, perish the thought.

He hadn't been waiting long, but already he was starting to get frustrated with their lack of appearance? Where was the short kid? Or the large one? Or the hideous – uh, Kendall? There were only so many Normals living in the hotel between the copious amount of ghouls, specters and nightmarish creatures…and whatever Kendall claimed to be, so it shouldn't have been _this _difficult.

Granted, he'd only started searching less than thirty minutes ago, and he'd only been to the pool area and the lobby so far, and he'd stopped his efforts at the pool after being blinded by a particularly obnoxious vampire's well-sculpted torso – it would've been rude _not_ to look – so it wasn't too farfetched that he'd had no luck. Still, it wasn't like the universe actually expected him to get off the recliner and do _actual _work; that just didn't make sense.

Proving him correct, seconds later, Jo flounced out of the elevator, waving wispy cobwebs away from her hair as she stepped up to the front desk. Jett grinned heavenward gratefully before popping up from his seat to meet her, knowing that wherever she was, Kendall was sure to be nearby like a starving puppy.

Jo saw him approaching and smiled warmly. "Hey there, Jett."

"Jo," he nodded his own greeting and returned her smile. "And how are _you_ this lovely day?"

"_I_ am just peachy," she replied with a matching airy quality. "We don't have any photoshoots until tomorrow morning, and I get to enjoy the whole day with my boyfriend."

Jett tried his best to keep the revulsion from his face; Jo's narrowing eyes told him he failed. "Speaking of Kendall, have you…"

Really, Jett didn't have much attention to detail, or else he would have noticed the hulking furry beast standing directly behind Jo a bit earlier, with its heavy breathing and its –murderous?– stare and its familiar green eyes. How long had the thing been there? Jett returned his cautious gaze to Jo, "You know this hotel doesn't allow non-performing pets, don't you?"

The beast growled low in its chest, almost as if it had _understood_ what he said, and Jo held her arm in front of its advance. "_This_ isn't my pet," Jo explained exasperatedly. "It's Kendall, and he's a werewolf right now. He's still…uh, working off some of the effects from morphing last night, so he'll probably be like this for a little."

Jett could have taken that opportunity to ask the obvious questions that popped up in his mind, such as why Kendall hadn't transformed when there was a full-moon out last night, or he could've been shocked at finding out Kendall wasn't a Normal, but where was the fun in any of that? Instead, he smirked at the beast and said, "Kendall, I see your hair is just as filthy and unmanageable now as it is when you're a human, only now it's more noticeable."

The answering swipe of Kendall's heavy paw was quick, and Jett had to be appreciative of his own reflexes. Had he not jumped back at the last second, he knew his face would smart violently. He glowered at Kendall, who was bearing his sharp fangs in vicious amusement.

"Do you two ever cut it out? _Ever_?" Jo's glanced between them pensively. Both boys stayed silent, sure that she didn't actually _want_ an answer, not that they had one. "Of course not," she sighed.

"I don't see how I'm at any fault," Jett said innocently, ignoring two accusing glares. "All I wanted to know is where I could find Logan, and your _mutt_ tried to attack me. I should have him sent to the pound."

"Why do you want to know where Logan is?" Kendall growled out with unveiled suspicion. Jett flinched at the sound, unaware Kendall was even capable of speaking in his current form.

He used that to his advantage. "You should really put a muzzle on that thing, Jo, or else he'll – _gah_!"

Kendall cut him off with another attempted mauling at his face, and Jett skittered around until he was in front of the elevators, grinning cheekily. Jo held back her bestial boyfriend and huffed in aggravation, "He's in apartment 2J, now could you go away?"

Jett hurried into the elevator and pressed the appropriate button, glad his planned had worked out flawlessly. Okay, no, he was pretty lucky that Jo had told him at the last second, because he'd completely forgotten about being friendly to Kendall to acquire his aid. How could he have possibly contained himself when he had a plethora of dog jokes to get out of his system?

He found himself in front of the appropriate apartment door before he even knew it, thoughts filled with new canine jokes to use on Kendall the next time they saw one another. Clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders, Jett knocked on the door.

There was silence, then the soft sound of feet approaching the door. "Who is it?" sounded from the other side, and Jett recognized the voice immediately.

"Logan? It's me, Jett. You know, Jett Stetson, the television star?" he smirked cockily at the door, despite Logan being unable to see him.

"Oh, Jett?" Logan said, though his voice sounded an octave higher. What was that he'd said last night? Something about his voice being high-pitched when he freaked out. "I – uh, what are you doing here?"

"I came here to speak with you. Are you busy?" Jett frowned, hearing the sounds of frantic scuffling and objects tumbling to the floor.

"I'm – no, I'm not busy, just…having a crisis at the moment! No big deal."

Yeah, that was believable. "Should I come back at another time then?" Or never at all, because he was somewhat afraid of what was going on behind the door separating them.

"No! I mean, don't leave, it's just…uh…I don't know?"

"Well could you figure it out at some point in time?" Jett crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. "I'd rather not stand here talking to a plank of wood like an imbecile." Logan snorted with laughter, but offered nothing else. "Are you doing this because of the comment I made about your band last night?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Then could you perhaps, I don't know, _open the door?" _

"Well…there are two problems with that. One, I kinda _can't_ open the door, literally," as if to prove his point, the doorknob began to jiggle uselessly, "and two…I'm afraid of you seeing me like this."

What was he, standing around in the nude? Logan didn't _seem_ like that type of unsavory person, not that Jett actually _knew_ him. Whatever the case, he wasn't happy with any of it. "You know what? This is ridiculous. I'm just going to go–"

"No, wait!" Logan sounded panicked and his voice came close to the barrier between them. "Okay, could you…open the door for me? Just, uh, promise me you won't freak out."

Jett was struck between simply abandoning whatever issue the boy was having or satisfying his own curiosity, because really, what the hell was going on behind that door? "I promise nothing of the sort," he declared. Preparing to lecture Logan on the failings of keeping important people waiting, Jett opened the door and stepped in–

To see Logan, leaning against the counter casually with a forced grin.

Only, he was more…deceased, was it?

Standing in the place of the Normal boy he'd seen last night was a ghoul with similar features; the dark hair, the pouty lips, the fashion sense, and the luminescent skin. Only now, the hair was styled with coagulated blood and brain fluid instead of typical hair-care products…like _mousse_, and the lips were dark with the permanence of dead skin cells and bruising, and the suit he had on was torn and ratty and _definitely_ from Alessandro Dell'Acqua's Fall collection _last_ year, and the skin was ashen and blotchy like he'd been punched repeatedly, and it was dirty and the flesh was ripped in multiple areas, exposing muscles and sometimes _bone_.

Yeah, deceased was the word for it.

"Are you alright?"

Jett focused back on Logan's eyes which, despite the signs of death that surrounded them, were actually pretty lively. Huh. "No, I'm freaking out," Jett replied calmly, inhaling deeply and then immediately coughing the air back out because good Lord, _the smell._

Logan blinked _audibly_, a loud and gummy noise that resembled a worm being squished. "Really? You don't seem very affected."

"I'm not going to run around like a fool just because you've managed to die and reanimate your corpse in less than twenty-four hours," Jett scoffed and brushed imaginary dust from his polo shirt with his lightly shaking hands. No, he wasn't scared; he'd seen plenty of zombies before. The problem was that he kept seeing Logan – normal, _human_ Logan in his head, and the sight in front of him told a brutal story.

What fresh hell had he gone through?

"Oh, I didn't die," Logan shook his head. "I was born like this – my mom died and came back to life when she was a teenager, so when she had me, I was already dead as well." Jett hummed curiously at that, and Logan rushed to explain. "It's really simple! When a zombie child is born, its limbs come disconnected, so it's actually a little easier than normal child birth. I mean, first you may get an arm, then a leg, then the torso, then a foot, and so on. You just have to assemble them once you get all the parts together. It's sort of like a fun…baby puzzle?"

Jett blanched at that; as if normal child birth wasn't already sickening enough! "I don't want to know your life…un-life story." He closed the door and leaned back against it with folded arms, "You were a Normal last night – a _human_, and you say you didn't die, so then," he gestured wildly at Logan's body one hand, "how did all of _this_ happen?"

"Well, that part's actually pretty easy to explain." Jett was sure skepticism was heavy on his face. "You see, our record producer needed to change our band into hot Normals for the party last night because the CEO of the company that owns our record label wanted to boost our popularity with humans, so he created this machine, which was really pretty ingenious. It harnessed the hyper-conductivity of atmospheric electrostatic discharges to–"

"_Not_ the important part," Jett held up a halting hand, displeased with the scientific turn the explanation had taken.

Logan snapped himself out of his excited daze and nodded sheepishly. "Right, sorry. Anyway, the machine was able to change us into Normals, but it only had enough power for the effects to be temporary. Right after we finished the show, the effects wore off, and…," he looked down at himself pointedly, "there you have it."

Jett clicked his tongue, "So, you're a zombie now?"

"Yes."

"Forever?"

"Unless our manager finds a way to make the effects of his machine permanent, yes."

"…and you were never a ghost?"

Logan frowned at him, "Why do you keep calling me a ghost? I haven't phased through anything or haunted anyone, have I?"

"Oh come now, have you _seen_ the skin on your hand? It's practically translucent!" Jett scoffed and pointed down to where Logan's hand was–

Or, where Logan's hand _should_ have been, for all intents and purposes.

Jett's index finger curiously traveled up the empty space where Logan's arm _should_ have been until it reached Logan's shoulder, covered up by scraps of his jacket. A quick glance to the other shoulder showed that it too was missing its limb. That certainly wasn't common. "Your arms are missing," Jett informed.

"Thanks, I didn't notice that," Logan rolled his eyes. Sarcasm. "It's kind of why I couldn't open the door."

"Well, where are they? Put them back on," Jett ushered, desperate to get back to some semblance of normalcy where it'd been all but scattered to the wind.

Logan jutted his head back to the living area, the sharp crack of his spine echoing throughout the room. "Lefty's over there on the couch." On cue, a hand popped up from behind the couch and waved at them. Jett didn't wave back. "Righty, I can't find. I'm pretty sure that damn dog has him again."

"You named your arms?" Jett asked flatly.

Logan blinked, "Of course I did."

"Of course you did." Grunting, Jett pushed himself from the door and walked over to where the arm was…sitting? "Why haven't you put this one on yet? Maybe then I wouldn't have to open my own doors."

Logan followed behind with pursed lips, "It's a bit difficult to put one arm on when I don't have the other." More sarcasm. Then, he was hopeful, biting his darkened lip with dead, yellowed teeth, "Uh…you wouldn't mind helping me with this, would you?"

Green eyes glanced from Logan's pleading face, to the wiggling hand on the couch, then back to Logan. "Yes, I would mind. Very much so." Touching lifeless limbs and fixing up zombies was _not_ on his bucket list.

Logan's hope deflated instantly at his answer, and he nodded his acceptance and shuffled his feet pathetically, and _dammit_.

Again, Jett looked down at the arm on the couch, which almost appeared to be – watching him? Hands _couldn't_ watch people, that was absurd. Grimacing, Jett leaned over and grabbed the arm in the cleanest part of the cloth covering it that he could find. It really was wasted effort, as his hands felt gritty upon contact, but at least he managed to avoid touching any loose skin. "How exactly do I…"

"You just insert the head of the humerus into the rotator cuff of the glenohumeral joint," Logan piped up, his left shoulder presented to Jett with a grin.

Jett narrowed his eyes at the dead boy, huffing prissily. "Come again?"

"Stick the ball of the arm into the shoulder socket."

Gripping the arm tightly in both hands, Jett bent down slightly to see into Logan's shoulder. What he saw was a horrific mess of torn muscles and tendons, ripped and blotchy flesh, and indistinct goo. Why was there _always_ goo? He tried not to gag as he shoved the arm into the socket hastily, missing the mark a few times before it finally slipped into the cuff with a sickening _pop_.

Something dripped from the newly _fixed_ shoulder and landed on the floor with a splat, prompting Jett to immediately jump back while Logan rotated his arm experimentally. "What is that?" Jett pointed to the viscous goop on the floor.

Logan eyed it curiously, "Oh, that's interstitial fluid."

"Hm, gross. I'm leaving," Jett announced briskly and sidestepped Logan, trying to dust some of the grime from his hands as he headed for the door.

"Wait!" Logan extended his arm, as if to stop Jett, but retracted it after a moment's thought with an embarrassed – blush? It was hard to tell since he cheeks gained a blue hint to them. The oddities never ceased. "I thought you wanted to, you know…talk?"

Jett paused, looking down at the dirt stuck to the crevices of his palms. His thoughts were too muddled to come up with a coherent explanation of his feelings, so he shrugged. "Yes, I did," then he was continuing on.

"It's because I'm not a Normal, right?" Logan's voice was soft and small, the smallest Jett had heard him, devoid of sarcasm and curiosity and mirth.

There wasn't really point to the question, nor was there a point in lying, as they both already knew the correct answer. "Yes, it is," Jett shut the door behind him.

* * *

><p>The hotel lobby had officially become <em>Jett's Personal Brooding Land<em>, in which Jett…brooded, even if he was annoyed with himself for brooding in the first place. Brood was a weird word.

After he'd left Logan's presence hours ago, he'd continued on with his merry life. He'd went out for a yogurt – a tasty black cherry and banana mix – he'd run lines with Curly Jennifer at the pool, he'd practiced his facial expressions in the mirror – his 'understanding smile' was off by two ticks. He'd gone about his day as if there wasn't a large, _dead_ hitch in his thoughts every two seconds.

And now he was reclining in his lobby chair again, brooding for all the world to see. It was pathetic and uncharacteristic of him. And _why_ was he in such a state?

Guilt. Guilt over a stranger. A stranger with detachable limbs and dried blood permanently encrusted underneath his yellowed fingernails who he'd left earlier in the day.

How did that even make sense?

Okay, _maybe_ he liked Logan just the tiniest bit – _not_ a crush, definitely not that. He wasn't a giggly teenage girl in love with the school's top meat-headed jock, he was a _man_, and men had…_interest_ in people. Yes, Jett was interested in Logan, who was too smart for his own good and sarcastic and annoyingly analytical and _why did he know all of this already?_

Jett almost wanted to pull at his hair over the frustration until he remembered how much time he'd spent getting it _just_ right. It was the thought that counted.

Besides, even if he did have interest in Logan, it didn't matter anymore, because Logan was dead. Jett held no prejudices against zombies or any other deceased individuals of their ilk – mummies, skeletons, ghosts, vampires, reanimated science experiments, whatever, but being unbothered by them was in an entirely different league from _dating _one. What if he tried holding hands with Logan and accidentally ripped off one of his fingers, or tried to hug him and ended up breaking off his entire upper torso? Not to mention _the smell_.

His entire life, the only time he'd been with anyone outside of his own kind was when he'd dated an insufferable brunette mermaid, and even then it had only been a publicity stunt for one of the previous shows he'd been casted in, _Surreal Monsters: Los Angeles Edition._ The girl was as annoying as she was wet, and who _really_ needed to eat that much smelly clam? Not to mention she was bossy and had expected _him_ to go to the ocean floor for every single one of their dates. The nerve of that bitchy bass!

Jett growled at the thought of her, and…_wait_, no, that growl hadn't come from his mouth. What was that? Jett grunted and looked in search for the source of the sound, but there were no monsters near him, nor were there any furry Kendalls, leaving him stumped for a moment. That is, until he checked behind his seat.

There on the carpet lay Lightning the Wonder Dog, chewing on whatever ratty thing he had trapped between his slobbery maws. Jett frowned down at the animal, trying to will him away without actually _touching_ him, because dogs were a big no-no, and then he noticed that the dog was chewing on something quite familiar.

Jett stood and sidestepped his Brooding Chair until he was directly in front of Lightning and, no, that was certainly no ordinary bone; that was one of Logan's arms – which one was it again?

The dog looked up at him growled in warning, his tail no longer wagging contently. Jett had absolutely no patience for that particular dog, so he crouched down and returned the growl fiercely, knowing he probably didn't look sane. At all. Lightning tightened jaws around his chewing toy and crawled back a little. Jett, already tired of the little game, reached forward and whapped the dog sharply between the eyes with his index and middle fingers, hissing out, "Drop it, mutt!"

Lightning flinched and whimpered pathetically before dropping the arm obediently, sitting back on his hindquarters and giving Jett the purest form of sad puppy eyes. They had absolutely no effect.

Jett snatched the arm up, quelling the righteous urge to grimace at the copious amount of dog drool on the sleeve, and retreated back to his seat. Once comfortable, he just sat there…staring at the arm in his lap.

Just what was he suppose to do since he'd inadvertently found Logan's missing puzzle piece? Returning to Logan now with the intention of only dropping off the arm and leaving without a word had the high probability of an uncomfortable atmosphere, something Jett wanted to avoid. Keeping it was completely out of the question; what would people assume he was keeping an extra hand around for? Just as well, throwing away a person's body part just seemed plain old rude, not to mention he'd have _guilt_ eating up at him if ever saw Logan again with only _one_ arm. Maybe he could give it back to Lightning and pretend he never saw it.

As he was contemplating tossing it back to the dog, the appendage moved – _moved! _– in his hands, something he'd completely forgotten the detached limbs could do on their own, and no, he had _not_ let out a girlish squeak at the movement! Jett sat in motionless horror while it wriggled around in his lap until it was – well, the palm was facing him and fluttering its fingers in greeting, so maybe that meant it was looking at him?

Heavens, he was losing his sanity.

"Uh…can you understand me?" Jett tried, subsequently feeling foolish when the limb showed no signs of recognition. Perhaps Logan was the only one who could communicate with it, which made sense. In a cosmic sort of way. Well, now the option of pretending he'd never come in contact with the arm was dashed away; the thing would probably rat him out as soon Logan retrieved it.

So caught up was Jett in his musings that he didn't notice Logan's arm slithering around once more – at least, until he felt icy cold fingers intertwine with his own.

Jett had to bite his tongue to keep from letting out a second shriek of grisly fright, because _Christ_ was that not alright. Afraid that it would attempt to crush his hand or steal his soul, he set upon removing it at once.

The only problem was, apparently Logan had a _very_ strong grip. Jett tried to pull at the arm, he tried shaking it off, he tried prying off each individual finger, he tried _punching_ it – which was probably the worst idea of all, since, hello? It couldn't feel, it was already _dead!_ – but the hand didn't budge an inch, just stayed attached to him like a chilled glove.

"Release me, immediately!" Jett hissed down at it, trying to avoid garnering any unwanted attention that would make him appear loony. He was, after all, yelling at someone's _hand_. As expected, Logan's hand didn't follow his order. If anything, it tightened. Jett groaned and dropped his forehead into his free hand. He needed to calm down his hysterical heart, else he'd be in Logan's position.

Only then, with his heart-rate slowing and his brow unfurling and his jaw unclenching, did he notice how – pleasant it was. And tingly, very tingly. Logan's disembodied palm was cool against his own heated one, lowering the temperature to a comfortable level. The skin wasn't hard and flaky as he'd expected it to be, but soft and unnaturally silky and, okay, peeling off heavily in some areas, but that was easy to ignore, right? The grip on his hand was firm, but not overbearingly so, perfectly content.

How odd.

Slowly, with an odd sort of fascination, almost as if he was seeing the arm for the first time, Jett swiveled their entangled hands until Logan's knuckles were pointed upward, _really_ inspecting the hand. Nothing was different. The skin was still a ghastly pallor with dark bruises scattered around. Logan's pinky finger was crooked, disfigured, very possibly broken and forever swollen. The fingernail on his ring finger was _gone_, a large scab and plenty of grime covering the nail bed as substitution.

Pulling back the sleeve just a little, – to which the arm twitched, creepy – Jett found a hidden gash along Logan's arm, not very long, but deep enough to expose plenty of muscle. After glancing around quickly to make sure no one was watching this time as well, because what he was doing now was _not_ normal, Jett tentatively poked at the edge of the wound, unable to contain his curiosity. Something moved underneath the inhuman sleek skin, and at first he thought it to be a muscle spasm of some sort, until he saw something sallow in color and thin like…Japanese ramen?

Only, _noodles_ _didn't move_.

The subsequent gag of disgust couldn't be contained. He faced away an protruding tongue and held Logan's arm as far away as he could, blindly brushing the squirming, slithering _maggots_ away from their arms and onto the carpet with his frantic free hand.

"Sickening," Jett grumbled, returning Logan's arm to his lap once he was positive all of the bugs were gone. Even more apprehensive than before, Jett prodded the same finger into the gash. Why he was doing whatever he was doing, he hadn't the faintest of ideas, but he knew he'd left the sanctum of sanity far, far in the distance; there was no longer any debate.

The tip of his finger felt cold and slimy, like sticking a finger in raw ground beef that was past its prime. Again, he was thankful for his aversion to red meat. Withdrawing his finger left a thick string of _more_ goo, and there was a dark red, almost black substance coating his fingers, heavy and dripping down his finger.

Now, there were plenty of plausible reactions to what Jett was seeing _and _doing. He could have let out another shrill scream and flailed about. He could have redoubled his efforts to remove the hand grasping his own affectionately. He could have found the nearest garbage can and emptied the contents of his stomach in one lovely take. He could have even fainted from the putrid smell of festering flesh billowing into his nose from Logan's wounds.

Instead, he breathed out a thoughtful, "Hmph," and wiped the substance off on Logan's sleeve – not really achieving the whole "cleaning" effect.

What was _wrong_ with him? Was he in a ghoulish nightmare where his tastes bordered on necronomical? Was that even a word?

He needed to fix himself.

Using Logan's knuckles, Jett punched himself in his left temple. Hard.

* * *

><p>After he'd been awakened an hour or so later by the portly poltergeist of a hotel manager and found that, no, he was <em>not<em> dreaming, Jett wobbled dizzily to the elevator and back up to Logan's apartment door. Logan's hand hadn't loosened its hold in the slightest; the only difference now was that its thumb was making slow, lazy circles on the back of Jett's hand. It was like he was being molested by a character from _The Addams Family_.

He knocked using Logan's knuckles, hoping that Logan was still there and alone. He didn't feel like having an audience to witness his newfound psychological shortcomings.

Recognizable shuffling was heard behind the door and a second later, it flew open to reveal Logan. Still a zombie. Still missing an arm. It was considerably less startling the second time around.

Logan himself appeared startled when he realized, then his expression was a mixture of emotions: surprise, sadness, hope, annoyance. "Jett? What…what are you doing here?" he questioned.

"I think I've found something that belongs to you," Jett lifted his left arm to show Logan their intertwined hands.

A grin lit up Logan's face, "Righty!" Then, it fell, replaced by a fetching indigo blush on his bruised cheeks. "Righty, what're you _doing?_" he whispered harshly to his arm, giving it a disapproving glare. In response, Logan's hand tightened his hold on Jett's possessively, making him wince shallowly.

"Ow," Jett griped flatly, more informatively than from the twinge of pain.

"Sorry, sorry. He just…has some feelings he needs to get out," Logan apologized while bending himself over at an awkward angle so that the arm and its socket were perfectly aligned. With the tight grip between them, Jett felt the nauseating _crunch_ when Logan popped the arm back in and _finally_ released Jett's right hand. "There we go."

Jett raised his freed hand up to his face, flexing it experimentally. The smell on his palm probably wouldn't go away for a while. "Your arm has feelings?"

Logan shrugged – something that seemed too natural for someone who occasionally lost the means to perform the action. "Well, they're connected through me, so yeah, I guess he does."

"What exactly are you feeling now?" Jett tried to keep too much interest out of his voice.

Logan looked off to the side, fidgeted a little, didn't offer any coherent answer to his question. Rude. "Thanks for finding him, I guess I owe you one. Uh, where _did_ you find him anyway?"

There was the slight urge to be childish and ignore Logan's question in return, but Jett squashed it. "That Wonder mutt was chewing on it," he jutted a thumb out behind him vaguely.

"I knew it," Logan rolled his eyes with deep-seated irritation; Jett could only guess how many times the dog had pilfered one of his body parts. "I'm surprised you were able to take it from him. I…hope you didn't go through too much trouble."

_Yes, _he _did_ go through too much trouble with a territorial dog and a rogue limb with an iron grip. "None at all. I had to learn how to train him when he guest starred as a villain on the show."

"_Ohh_, I remember that episode, the one where he played the principal's possessed dog! And every time you said anything to him, he'd go after your leg and chew on it for like, half the scene. That was so hilarious," Logan looked as if he would burst into laughter at any second.

"Yes, well, none of that was actually _scripted _beforehand, _nor_ was I allowed to wear shin guards or any sort of protection, but whatever. I'm glad you enjoyed my pain," Jett said through grit teeth, crossing his arms petulantly. Just the memory of those horrid weeks on set made him wish he had hit the dog repeatedly – maybe with something hard and blunt – when he'd taken the arm from him earlier.

"Oh, really?" Logan grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about your legs then." Jett only hummed in acceptance

And then there was only the uncomfortable silence that Jett had wanted to avoid. Logan had yet to move from the doorway or _invite him inside_, leaving Jett to stand there in front of him awkwardly, hands pressed against the denim material covering his thighs.

This was probably meant to be Jett's cue to take his leave now that the deed was done. If the annoyance on Logan's face earlier was any indication, he was convinced that Jett still thought his new body was repulsive – and okay, that was mostly true, but things were _different_ now, in a completely disconcerting way. He couldn't simply leave now that he had psychological turmoil and the source of it was standing directly in front of him, being…cute and dead.

Jett didn't know how long they stood their ground, but Logan _obviously_ wasn't getting the hint, so he cleared his throat deliberately and tilted his head toward the apartment, unsure how to be any more conspicuous without voicing his desires.

Logan's lips twitched. "Do you want to come in…again?" he asked slowly, almost like he didn't want Jett to accept the invitation. Jett strategically ignored the implication and nodded, brushing past Logan and moving until he could lean comfortably against the back of the orange couch. Logan shut the door quietly and approached him, scratching at his scalp anxiously – yes, those little white bits flying out of his hair _were_ maggots. How had he not been devoured by the miniature pests by now?

"So…" Logan started, clearly expecting an explanation for Jett's prolonged visit.

Only, Jett didn't _have_ an answer articulated to give. His reasons were in unorganized bits and scraps of foreign emotions and memories of misplaced aggression and altered superficial views and – _that_ _damned_ _tingling_ that was pricking under the skin of his left palm, even though Logan had let go minutes before. How was he meant to explain his feelings to Logan when he couldn't even explain them to _himself_? Was he even in a healthy state of mind to try and formulate meaningful words – if they _were_ meaningful?

Thinking was beginning to make his head ache, so he took the route he knew was most typical, appropriate. "I think…I may have made a mistake earlier."

Logan's forehead wrinkled. "'Made a mistake'?" After Jett nodded his affirmation, "Made a mistake with what?"

Certainly Logan wouldn't make the process any easier on him. Jett hands rotated uselessly at his sides, and his eyes glanced away from Logan, toward the out of place playground slide, and words were suddenly spilling from his lips. "Made a mistake with you, I guess. I mean, I don't _guess_, I _did_ make a mistake. I was probably a little hasty in leaving earlier, and that was rude. I suppose – _no_, I don't suppose. It _was_ rude, and I shouldn't have, and I – well, I don't _apologize_, necessarily, but I admit that I was in the wrong, because…"

"Because you found out that I'm really a hideous zombie and you didn't want to talk to me anymore," Logan finished for him, tone completely blasé despite his words. "I get it, it's cool. Don't worry about it, man. You learn to grow a thicker skin when Normals puke at the sight of you," Logan's smile was self-deprecating and weary, and that guilt from earlier was back in full force.

"I did _not_ vomit, even when your hand came to life and shackled itself to mine," Jett said firmly, hoping to gain back his validity. "Also, to be fair, I met you when you were human first, and then you suddenly popped up dead. _Dead_! I think that gives me a bit more leeway than the Normals, hm?" In no way would he classify himself as normal, even when Logan repeated it like crazy.

Logan gave a short bark of laughter, "Yeah, I guess that _is _fair." He stepped over to Jett's right and mirrored his position, hands gripping the back of the couch. Jett did his best not to cough at the smell of him; that would've undone so much progress. "Not a lot of them like to apologize either–"

"That _wasn't_ an apology."

"–so I guess that puts you above the rest too." Logan held up his right for Jett's view, showing him unhealed lacerations going across his palms for some unknown reason. "I'm surprised you came back. I didn't…get to be a Normal for very long, and you were pretty much the only new person I got to meet, since the effects didn't last until the end of the party. It was awesome, even though it didn't seem like you liked me too much."

Tired of seeing the lines of dried blood along the crevices of Logan's palm, Jett brought his hand up to lower Logan's manually and, oh, those tingles were surging through his hands like volts of electricity, followed closely by shivers from Logan's deathly wintry skin against his own heated fingertips. Despite the multiple conflicting sensations, Jett managed to retract his hand slowly, not wanting to give Logan any mixed signals, but _his hands_ had suddenly huge erogenous zones and how embarrassing would it be if he started to moan just from holding Logan's hand?

Jett ignored it as best he could, swallowing heavily. "I didn't like you. You know too much and you're totally big headed about it."

Logan gave an affronted gasp, "No I'm not!"

"Oh _please_, don't try that innocent act with me," Jett rolled his eyes. "You're all types of arrogant when you're waxing intellectual about something _no_ _one_ in the world has knowledge of, ever. I should know, I'm an expert on arrogance," he boasted with a smug smile.

Logan snorted and nudged his elbow against Jett's arm. Jett considered it a success that he didn't flinch or cringe in the slightest. "I didn't think you were actually aware of how arrogant you are."

"Of course I was, and it's well deserved if you asked me. Have you _seen_ this?" Jett circled his hand in around his face to draw focus to it, making sure to give his most handsome smile – which was actually difficult, since, come on, when _wasn't_ he handsome? Logan covered his mouth with one hand, his shoulder shaking lightly. "And just what are _you_ laughing at? You don't think I am?"

"No, it's not that. When you did that…hand thing you just did, you kind of reminded of me of James."

"Who?"

When Logan tilted his head, Jett worried that it might snap off with the motion. He didn't think he could handle sudden decapitation just yet. "You know, James? My band mate? Tall guy, bulky, brown hair, vampire, really pretty?"

Jett ignored the tiny sliver of – jealousy? – at whoever this _James_ character was, because he had no reason to wonder who Logan thought was prettier between the two of them. The choice was obvious. "I have no idea who that is, and I don't really care. I already know I'm prettier than him."

"That wasn't the point of me bringing him up, but okay. How exactly would you're know that if you've never seen him?" Logan raised an eyebrow at him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Logan," Jett said incredulously, pointedly smoothing a hand over his perfectly styled locks.

He received a chuckle for his efforts, "_Riiight,_ how silly of me."

Then, Logan's gaze fell to the hardwood floor and the room lost its comical mood. Jett's eyes were trained on Logan's body language; his brown, chipped teeth worrying at his bottom lip, his filthy fingers pulling at odd couch fibers, his gaze skating from one corner of the room to the next. Jett knew that if he wanted to move things – _things_ being their ambiguous relationship – along, then he'd have to initiate it, because Logan didn't appear to have the gall to.

Just as Jett was gathering up his own self-assurance, Logan spoke again. "Hey, I really am glad you came back, you know. It'll be cool having another Normal for a friend. People don't usually want to be around someone who smells and looks like _this_," he gestured to himself

Logan's obliviousness was just the boost he needed, apparently. "_Friend?_ Are you mad?" he added a derisive huff of laughter. Except maybe that wasn't the best reaction, because Logan's eyes were wide and hurt, so he probably needed to be less of – _himself_. Just a little. "I _know_ you don't think I went through all of this trouble so we could become pals. I'm sure you aren't that naïve."

His words were proven wrong when Logan tilted his head and said, "I'm not sure I follow you."

Jett gave a put upon sigh and pushed off from the couch, standing in front of Logan confidently. He could feel the frosty, rotten breath flowing from Logan's mouth and blowing across his face, and the odor of Logan's decaying body was beginning to burn his nostrils and his eyes, but he didn't retreat any, not one step back.

Instead, he smirked. "Don't play coy with me. I never had any intention of being stuck in your friend zone, and…," he paused for a moment to reach forward and thread his fingers through Logan's right hand, briefly holding it up for the other boy to see, "if the feelings you're sending through your hand are any indication, I don't think that's what you want either."

Logan was flushing darkly again, staring down at their conjoined hands as if it was a scientific marvel. Jett could feel heat on his own cheeks, fingers in Logan's grasp twitching periodically from the minimal contact.

Through all of the cautious optimism and elated embarrassment on Logan's face, Jett could still see the doubt, clear as day. "You _do_ realize that I'm still a zombie right? The chances of me ever becoming human are extremely low, especially now that our record producer doesn't need us to be Normals anymore."

Jett's brow rose, "Of course I realize that, I'm not blind."

"I don't want you to like me because you think I'll be human someday. _This_ is me," Logan free hand rose to his chest.

"Yes, and I've had plenty of time to cope with that, so don't fret about it," Jett nodded firmly.

"It hasn't even been a full day yet, Jett."

"I _said_ I've had plenty of time to cope with that. Do you doubt me?" he leveled the dead boy with a challenging glare reminiscent from their first meeting, grip tightening on his hand.

Logan looked panicked, exactly the reaction Jett had hoped for. "What? No, it's not that–"

"Then _shut_ _up_ and let me like you already!" Jett punctuated his order with a tug of Logan's hand, strong enough to bring the other boy closer to him, but light enough so he didn't unintentionally yank the arm of its socket. "Christ, you're annoying sometimes."

Logan laughed a little, "I'm sorry. I just can't believe that someone like _you_ wants to actually touch me."

"Well, believe it. I am a man, after all. Touching you doesn't bother me in the least – hand holding, hugging, kissing…whatever other garish things obnoxious couples do."

"Oh, is that so?" Logan challenging eye was a mirror of Jett's own, only more frightening since the targets had been reversed.

No, it wasn't so, not completely. He was afraid to go anywhere near Logan's hair since it appeared to be a nest for every fly in Palm Woodsylvania – touching bugs was an entirely different category from touching a zombie. He was afraid of the horror that was most definitely behind Logan's suit, if the gashes on his arms and neck continued further on. Most of all, he was afraid of Logan's head randomly falling off, because he _knew_ he would freak out again.

But he couldn't simply _tell the truth._ What sense would that make? "Yes, it _is_ so. You need to learn to be more trustworthy."

Before Logan's words even vibrated in his ears, Jett knew he would regret his bluff. "Then kiss me."

And there it was. Jett's flinched slightly at the victorious little smirk Logan sported, smug as all get out. "What? Now?" Logan's smirk only widened. "You don't want to wait until after we go on our first date so I can kiss you on your doorstep? I'm pretty sure this would be against the rules of dating. I don't want to ruin the experience for you."

"I don't mind at all," Logan shrugged. "I'm a teenage boy with wild hormones, and no one's wanted to kiss me since the third grade." His grinned turned toothy, cheeky. "Of course, you don't _have_ to if it bugs you or anything. I'll understand if it freaks you out to kiss this," his free hand lifted to _dig_ his fingers into a cut on his cheek and slowly peel, pulling off chunk of flesh so thick that Jett could see every tooth on the left side of his face once it was removed. After giving Jett a moment to take everything in – he was able to keep his face neutral after remembering the episode with the gash in Logan's arm, but _good Lord!_ – Logan replaced the flesh and patted it into place fondly.

If Jett wasn't one thing it, it was a coward.

Okay, that was a lie. He was deathly afraid of anything dangerous or disgusting or potentially damaging to his hair. Logan was just standing there, grinning like he'd stolen every tidbit of Jett's confidence, because he thought he was _so damn smart_ with his inane little test, and Jett couldn't let that go.

So he dove down swiftly and captured Logan's lips, prepared for the worst – like Logan's cheeks falling off. Logan let out a muffled noise of surprise and Jett smirked triumphantly into the kiss, moving his lips against Logan's in earnest. The skin covering Logan's was as unnaturally silky as the rest of him, though incredibly softer and pliant. After Logan got over his initial shock, he started moving his lips along with Jett's, slow and inexperienced, letting out a soft sigh through his nostrils, and it was so much better than Jett had expected it to be. Why had he been worried in the first place?

Then, he made the mistake of immersing himself fully into the kiss. He pressed his body against Logan's, his tongue poking out to trail along the seam of Logan's lips, tasting the coppery hint of blood just underneath the skin. Logan received the message after a bit of prodding and opened his mouth to the intrusion, letting Jett explore his mouth to his heart's content.

Jett had never tasted rotten fish before, but he knew it would taste something like the inside of Logan's mouth. Logan's tongue was coated with some fluid that was too thick to be saliva and pungent in flavor, namely dirt and dried blood. Indistinct gunk was caked onto his yellow teeth, some occasionally and rolling around in their kiss. And then Logan exhaled the smallest bit of his acrid breath into Jett's mouth and it was almost _acidic_ against inside his throat, burning and making him tear up and _that was enough_.

Jett pulled back and coughed off to the side, marveling at the green puffs of putrid air that escaped his lips with every involuntary spasm. "That's an – _ugh – _acquired taste," he commented hoarsely, waving away the fumes.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," Logan backed away and attempted to pull his hand out of Jett's grip, most likely to dote over the minuscule coughing fit, but Jett didn't release him. "Are you alright? You don't have any history of asthma attacks, do you? Do you need an inhaler? Should I call–"

"I'm fine, don't blow a gasket," Jett waved off the concern easily, pulling Logan close to him once more. "Maybe now you'll actually believe me when I say it doesn't bother me."

Logan didn't look convinced, pressing his hand against Jett's chest. "It sounded like you were in pain. Are you sure you're alright?"

"_Yes_, I told you I wasn't like other humans – Normals, whatever."

The fingers at Jett's chest tightened into a fist, and Logan laughed hesitantly. Jett was sure he'd have to concern the panic-stricken boy more until Logan spoke again. "You're right, you're not like other Normals. You're actually pretty extraordinary, if you ask me."

Was Jett proud over the small compliment? Yes – ecstatic, even, though he didn't show externally. Logan had unwittingly given him the verification he'd admittedly needed to confirm that, no, he _wasn't _just a Normal. The fact that Logan had an excellent analytical view on him only bolstered everything he'd already known about himself. How excellent was that?

Not that he planned on letting Logan know the effect of his compliment.

"As if I didn't already know that," he snorted.


End file.
